


The Bowler Bowl

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Butt Plugs, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, competitive dorks, kind of?, panty!kink, strong opinions about grass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: The first spring he's living in his new place, Dean finds himself competing pretty fiercely for the best lawn in the neighborhood.  The only competition?  His neighbor - Castiel Novak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the [November 2016 Supernatural Writing Prompt Challenge](http://supernaturalpromptchallenge.tumblr.com/post/151360083277/welcome-to-the-third-round-of-the-supernatural). The theme was November and my prompt was grass :) So please forgive my overuse of the words grass, lawn, and yard.
> 
> Also a huge thank you to [formidablepassion](http://formidablepassion.tumblr.com) for helping me come up with this idea and talking me out of the mcd version of this prompt that i was initially tempted to do.
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) :)

Dean didn’t exactly have a great childhood.  Moving from place to place every few months, living out of motel rooms and his dad’s car, it all meant Dean never had a place he called home.  Sure, the car’s his now and there’s a part of his heart that will always belong to her, but that’s not quite the same as having a fixed place of your own.

Even in college when he was living in the dorms, it wasn’t _home_.  Sure, it was a bed that was actually _his_ and a few square feet of wall he could decorate.  But it was stability, not the place his heart ached for when he spent too long away.  Every dorm room he ever lived in was interchangeable, a holding place for what he really wanted.

Once he graduated, he went right back to living out of that car.  He scrimped and saved and busted his ass working two jobs.  The second he’d rustled up enough money for a down payment, he found himself this cozy little two story house near work.  Two bedrooms upstairs, an open concept main floor, and a finished basement.  No two ways about it, Dean was in love.

He nested pretty hard, too.  Bought the seasonal knick knacks to decorate the place.  Made sure each room was its own color but that the whole house had a common look.  Even read up about feng shui when he was setting up the living room.  

Sam teased him for being ‘house poor’ but he didn’t mind a bit.  Why the hell would he want to go out when he could stay in his nice, cozy home and invite people over for games and movies?  And who needed a trip to Miami for Spring Break?  He’d rather spend the money on new windows for the living room (you know, those energy efficient ones oh oh OH and maybe some plantation shutters, those would look _so good_ with the wood floors).  

The house was pretty much perfect and no amount of sass from Charlie or Sam would make him embarrassed about it.  He knows who he is and he’s comfortable with it.  So maybe he’s fallen asleep watching HGTV one too many times, but he can’t argue with the results.

The only thing that ever ruined his enjoyment of his little home was goddamned Castiel fucking Novak.

\- - - -

Dean walks out to get the morning paper, slippers flopping loudly as he heads down the driveway.  It’s the first real day of spring - thank _god_ cuz he’s still in his boxers and a tee shirt, he’d forgotten his damn robe upstairs - and damn if the weather’s not amazing today.  He bought the place in the winter and has yet to enjoy all the outdoor space that came with the place.  

With plans of maybe swinging by Home Depot to pick up some lawn chairs for the backyard, he starts heading back to the house.  He happens to spot his neighbor Garth heading out for a walk with his new dog.  

“Hey Deano!” he calls animatedly.  His dog trots over and Garth follows, stopping right at the edge of Dean’s yard.  “Got any plans this weekend?”

“Probably make a run to Home Depot some time today.”  He eyes the dog suspiciously, hoping the mut won’t piss on the grass.  Or his car.  Or him.  To avoid temptation, he tucks the newspaper under his arm so he won’t whack the poor dog preemptively.

“Oh!  Neat!  You entering the Bowler Bowl?”

Although it sounds like complete nonsense, Garth’s question seems completely genuine.

“The Bowler Bowl?” he repeats slowly, sure he must’ve misheard something.

“Yeah!”  Then his eyes go wide and he smacks his forehead. “I plumb forgot, you didn’t move in til October last year!  You missed the whole thing!”

Dean waits expectantly before prompting, “Missed…?”

“The Bowler Bowl!”  Dean’s about to rip his hair out, but Garth thankfully proceeds.  “It’s a contest the neighborhood association runs every year to see who can have the best yard.  They have judges from other blocks come over and take a look at the grass and the flowers and the landscaping and the trees and the bushes-”

Probably more loudly than he needs to, he interrupts with a cough.  “Why’s it called the Bowler Bowl?”

“Oh.”  He frowns and scratches his head.  “Because we live on Bowler Green Lane.”

“Yeah I got that.  I meant the bowl part.”

“Oh, well, I used to think it was on account of the Superbowl.  But Bess said that didn’t make no sense on account of the judging not being until August and the Superbowl’s in February.  So I asked around and it turns out that it’s cuz the winner gets this dinky lil trophy that looks like the type of bowl you’d put Halloween candy in.”

“Is it like a big thing or-?”

“Oh my, yes!”  He pulls out his phone and pulls up a picture to show Dean (who carefully steps around the dog, licking its ass and completely ignoring them).  It’s a picture of this gaudy bowl attached to a small wooden stand with little copper engravings on the side.  As he scrolls through, Dean looks at picture after picture of pristine looking yards.  

At the end, there’s a picture of a familiar looking dark-haired man.  His blue eyes are shining like the fucking stars in the sky as he smugly holds the trophy over his head.  

“Hey, that the guy who lives next to me?”  

“Yeppers!  That’s Castiel Novak.  You probably haven’t seen him too much lately, he spends Christmas out in Chicago with his family.  Plus he’s kind of a workaholic, keeps to himself mostly.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him a couple times.”  He hands back the phone after he’s finally able to force himself to look away.  He knew the guy was decent looking, but since he’d only ever seen him darting out to grab the mail while wearing his oversized trenchcoat.  Seeing him up close in the picture with the edges of his shirt riding up and giving a taste of the flat abs and sinful hipbones underneath…

Focus, Winchester.

“So he won last year?”

“And the year before.  He didn’t win the year before that, but that’s cuz he moved in ‘round July 4th and didn’t have enough time.  You should’ve seen the state of his home before he moved in, I tell ya!  He sure turned it around.”

“But basically this guy always wins?”

“Three years running!”  

“... So this guy has the best house on the block?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.  I’ve never seen inside-”

“Well, he’s not winning this year!  I’m gonna win that fugly trophy if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Good luck!” Garth cheerfully puts his phone back in his pocket and tugs on the leash.  His dog hops up and starts walking off with Garth in tow.

Looks like he’s going to have to revise that wishlist for Home Depot.

\- - - -

He spends a good hour surveying his yard, analyzing every square inch for ways to improve.  In the end he decides against the lawn chairs (they’ll just mess up what little grass he has, plus a hammock is much more classic looking).  The rest of the day is spent perusing the gardening section, grabbing everything from mulch to potted plants for his porch.  

And grass seed.  Lots of grass seed.

The damn lawn’s spotty at best.  The sprinkler system still works, so he figures the grass can be his first project.  The flowers and stuff are really just bells and whistles.  You can’t grow grass, no way you’re winning best yard.  

That weekend (and many thereafter) is dedicated to starting his lawn project.  Admittedly, he _does_ want the Bowler Bowl (tacky as it’ll look on his mantle), but he probably would’ve done all this work anyway.  He’s more or less perfected the inside of his house, and he wants a spectacular outside to match.  So it doesn’t bother him that his jeans have grass stains or his back is sore from digging up flower beds or that there’s perpetually dirt under his fingernails these days.

What _does_ bother him is how fucking insufferable Castiel Novak is.

“I see you’re working on fixing up your yard.”  

Dean looks over his back, wiping sweat from his brow.  His neighbor is standing on the sidewalk.  And damn if he isn’t even finer in person than in Garth’s picture.  “Yep.”  He gets up and wipes off his hands as best he can and offers one.  “Dean Winchester.  Don’t think we officially met since I moved in last year.”

“We haven’t.”  He accepts Dean’s hand in a firm grip and shakes it twice.  “Castiel Novak.  I live next door.”  Introductions safely out of the way, he crosses his arms over his ~~thick broad deliciously muscular~~ chest and nods at yard.  “Do you need any help with anything?  I’m somewhat of a horticultural enthusiast.”

“Is that so?”  Dean matches Castiel’s posture and fake smile.  “I appreciate the offer, but it seems better in the interest of fair play not to distract you from your own lawn.”

A raised eyebrow is the only show of surprise.  “Fair play?”

“Oh, I plan on winning the Bowler Bowl.  Hear you’re the one to beat, reigning champ and all.  Anyway, wouldn’t want to take your time away from fixing up your own yard.  Grass is looking a little brown over by your rose bushes.”

“It is _not_ ,” he snaps, but his eyes dart over to look.  

“Hey hey, just tryin’ to help.”  He raises his arms defensively and puts on his best innocent smile.  All it earns him is a glare from Castiel, who storms off.  (He pretends not to, but he totally checks on the grass by the rose bushes on his way into the house.)

Game.  On.

\- - - -

Honestly, Dean expected a fair fight.  After the hours upon hours he’s been putting in every sunny day (and a couple rainy ones too), he expects hard work to win him the Bowler Bowl.  But a week or so after he sees Castiel re-seeding his lawn, Dean notices something that he does **not** like.

The next time he sees Castiel going out for a run (also fuck him and his ridiculous huge ~~gorgeous~~  runner’s thighs that Dean totally does **not** imagine wrapped around his neck), he runs outside to get his attention.  

“Hey!”  He waits until Castiel saunters over (and pointedly ignores the beads of sweat dripping down his bare chest - seriously!? fucking short shorts and no shirt what a goddamned asshole).  “You grow Bermudagrass?”

“Yes?”

“You spread some seeds lately?”

“Yes?”

“You wanna do a better job next time so your damn Bermudagrass seeds don’t end up in my lawn and fuck up my Kentucky Bluegrass?”  He gestures wildly to the few splotches of grass that are a few shades off from the rest of the lawn.  

Castiel looks everywhere Dean points before turning back to Dean with a smile.  “You should be asking me to get _more_ grass seed on your yard.  Bermudagrass is a hardier type of grass that won’t leave you with those pesky _bare_ spots your yard is currently plagued with.”

Heat rushes to his cheeks and his fists clench uncomfortably tight.  “Bermudagrass is a fucking _weed_.  And I do _not_ have bare spots.  The grass is just a lil slow comin’ in because of the dry weather is all.”

“Sure it is.”  And then with a wink he’s off to do another lap on his run through the neighborhood.  

~~And Dean does **not** watch him go.  Or admire his ass.  Mmm what a firm-  NO.~~

As soon as Castiel’s out of sight, Dean marches right across the street to Garth’s yard.  He grabs fistfuls of dandelions, as many as he can reasonably reach from the safety of the sidewalk (he might be pissed, but he’s not about to traipse all over someone else’s yard like a madman… unless it’s Castiel’s yard).  Hands full, he jogs back across the street.  

After a quick look in either direction, Dean quickly scatters the seeds all over the yard.  Sabotage complete, he sprints back into the house.  

They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but the time he spends waiting for the damn dandelions to show is agony.  He keeps busy with his own yard, fleshing out the garden a little bit more with some perennials he picked out.  They’re a stunning shade of blue and no he’s not going to analyze the color choice too closely thankyouverymuch.  

But when the dandelions start to appear, it’s fucking _glorious_.

He grabs a cup of coffee and sits on his porch, pretending to read a book while really watching Castiel move furiously from cluster to cluster de-weeding.  When their eyes meet a couple time, the anger the other man sends his way is palpable.  But Dean just lifts his mug to him and grins like a pleased idiot.  

Strangely enough, it’s not long after that when he starts finding rocks in his yard.  Well, it starts as pebbles randomly scattered around.  He doesn’t see them until they almost ruin his lawn mower, but after that he sees them _everywhere_.  And then it’s not just pebbles, but bigger rocks.  Until eventually they’re bigger than his fist.  

What the actual fuck?

It confuses him to no end until one day on the way back from his run, Castiel stops in front of Dean’s house.  Dean’s got a bucket full of rocks (and damn if it isn’t getting harder and harder to find places to put them) as he combs through the grass for anything he’s missed.  

“Ow, I think there’s something in my shoe.”  Castiel proceeds to take off his running shoe and pour the contents over Dean’s yard.  A disturbing number of rocks fall out, all bouncing into the grass as Dean stands there gaping.  Once that shoe’s empty, he does the same with the other.  “Did you know there’s a rock quarry a couple miles from here?  They’re pretty generous with their smaller rocks.  Thought you might like to know, since you seem to be amassing quite the _collection_ there.”  

And off he struts to his house before Dean can even begin to process what just happened.

Things escalate from there.  Dean cuts a branch from the huge maple in his front yard.  In his defense, it _is_ rotted through and would probably only last til a good snowfall or heavy wind broke it off.  But if it _happened_ to cast this huge shadow onto Castiel’s lawn, a shadow which is now gone, well… Clearly Dean didn’t _mean_ to fuck up the guy’s yard by killing all his shade loving flowers.  

He thinks nothing of it when a few days later Cas is mowing his lawn.  People mow their lawn, no big deal.  (Except the fucking Rosens whose lawn looks like a fucking jungle.  Seriously!?   _How_ can they think that looks okay?  Bringing down everyone’s property values just cuz they’re too cheap to hire the Tran kid to cut it for them.  He has half a mind to march over there and cut it himself.  Send them a damn bill for his time.)

Anyway, Dean has no reason to be suspicious.  Doesn’t even notice it until the next evening.  About five neighbors while walking their dogs have looked at his house very strangely.  Strangely enough that he goes to investigate.  

The property lines between Dean and Castiel’s houses are pretty weird.  In the back Dean has a good chunk of land that looks like it should fall on Castiel’s side.  In the front, there’s this whole awkward stretch that’s technically Castiel’s but definitely looks like it’s part of Dean’s property.  And all along that stretch are bizarre patterns mowed into the grass in wildly varying lengths.

It takes him an hour to fix it, and even then he sees people eyeing him strangely.

In a fit of rage, he does the unthinkable.  He asks Garth if he can borrow his dog.  

“Mr. Squiggle?”  His usual cheer gives way to concern.  “What for?”

“Just wanna take him on a walk.  Give you and Bess time to hang out for a bit.”

“Oh.”  Then he lights up and goes to grab the leash.  “That’s mighty nice of you, Dean!”

Two hours later there is a massive pile of dog shit waiting for Castiel right by his mailbox and a streak of yellowed grass wilting under dog piss.  

That’s when things take an unexpected turn in their little turf war.  Dean’s obviously suspicious when Castiel shows up a week later, eyes trained on Dean like he’s a man with a mission.  He tries to play it cool as he turns on his sprinklers.  

“Hey Cas, what can I do for you?”

“This is getting ridiculous, Dean.  We should just call a truce and worry about maintaining our own yards instead of trying to sabotage each other.”

“You upset cuz I’m winning?”

Castiel’s face goes red and he grits his teeth.  “If it makes you more comfortable with a ceasefire to view it that way, then sure.”  

“Alright…”  Then he hesitates, because don’t they have to make it official?  “Wanna come in for a quick cup of coffee?”

Dean’s heart does _not_ skip a beat when Castiel smiles and follows him inside.  

“So you take it with cream or sugar or anything?” he asks while looking through some cabinets for suitable mugs.  He’ll be damned if he’s giving him his Captain America one to use, but he’s willing to allow the Starfleet Command one.  When he turns around, Cas is right in his face.  Dean swallows reflexively and backs up into the counter.

Without a word, the other man drops to his knees in front of Dean.  He holds Dean’s gaze as he slowly undoes his pants and pulls them down.  And yeah, good, because his pants were starting to feel a little tight and-

“Fuck!” he hisses out, head slamming back against the pantry as Cas takes him into his mouth.  This is… good?  (YES! his dick enthusiastically calls.   _SO_ good.)  Right?  A truce and now a blowjob and ohhhh god that thing he’s doing with his tongue should be illegal.

He comes with a whimper, still undecided on where he stands on this development.  (SO so good, his dick reminds him.)  While he’s trying to recover, Castiel tucks him back into his boxers and fixes his pants.  He pats Dean on the cheek.  “That was fun.  Good talk.”  And then he’s gone and Dean’s not quite through the mental gymnastics necessary to understand _what the hell just happened_.

It becomes painfully clear when he steps outside to get some fresh air… only to find his sprinklers still running and the yard completely drenched.  

“Sonuvabitch!”

\- - - -

Dean feels like he’s done a decent job of fighting fire with fire so far.  Which means there’s only one possible form of retaliation.  

He bakes a pie.  A damn fine apple pie, if he doesn’t say so himself.  Perfect crust, gooey filling, and an amazing buttery cinnamon apple smell.  Only a complete monster would be able to resist a pie this good.  

“Hey Cas!”  

Practically buried in his rose bushes, Castiel cautiously comes out to watch Dean stroll over, pie in hand.  “Hello Dean.  What can I do for you?”  The mistrust lacing his words is music to Dean’s ear.  

“Just being neighborly and bringing over a pie for you.  Wanna come in and try a piece?  Tastes better fresh.”

“Thank you for the pie, Dean, but I really have to finish out here first.”  

Dean pouts, really hamming up his disappointment.  Pssh, like he expected Cas to cave that easily.  Where’d the fun in that be?  “Course.  I’ll just leave it on your porch then.”

He puts a little sway in his hips as he walks, stealing a peek over his shoulder to make sure Cas is watching.  The guy’s eyes are glued to his ass, and Dean bites back a smile because he knows he’s won.  Very deliberately, He bends over to put the pie down on the top step.  Dean can feel the edges of his shirt riding up and his pants dipping down to reveal…

There’s an audible gasp behind him.  He barely has time to enjoy it before Cas is manhandling him into the house.  “You fucking _slut_ ,” Cas grunts in his ear as he pushes him into the door.  “You think you can just strut over here, show me a glimpse of your panties, and just walk away?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he purrs, thrusting his ass back against Cas.  The other man grips his hips and moans, hands scrambling to undo his pants.  Dean can feel his gaze on him, admiring the blue satin panties.  “Ask me how I picked the color.”

“How did you-”

“Reminds me of your eyes.”

Castiel nearly rips them off right then, burying his face in Dean’s hair before biting along the back of his neck.  “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Nope.”  He shakes his ass a few times, enjoying the feel of Cas’ erection rubbing against him.  “Just trying to win.”

“What?”  Castiel freezes and backs away.  Dean glances over his shoulder to watch his desire to beat Dean war with his desire to thoroughly fuck him.  The other man bites his lip, looking from Dean to the window and back.  They both know his work schedule only leaves him weekends to work on the yard.  They both know that if he doesn’t trim his bushes today, he won’t be able to for another week.

And more importantly, they both know that whatever Castiel wants to do to Dean right now will take _hours_.

“I hate you so much,” he whines, but the way he palms at Dean’s ass makes it a lot less convincing.  As the final push, Dean wiggles out of his panties, revealing the end of his favorite pink plug.  “Did I say hate?” Castiel backtracks.  “I think I meant love.  Or like.  Or whatever answer it is that lets me fuck you against this door.”

“Tell me I have an amazing lawn that’s way better than yours.”  As an added incentive, he plays with the plug, tugging at it and twisting it and making the most pornographic sounds he can.  

“You have the most amazing lawn I’ve ever seen.  Odes will be written to your prowess as a gardener.  Statues will be erected in your honor.  I will gladly hand over the Bowler Bowl to you when you are named champion.  Now may I _please_ fuck your brains out?”

How’s a guy supposed to say no to that?

\- - - -

First it becomes a thing to come by every weekend and distract Cas from his yard work with sex.  Castiel might bitch and complain about it, but he _very enthusiastically_ participates in the sex, so Dean considers it a win win.  

Then it becomes Castiel occasionally coming over during the week.  The guy almost has a second sense for when Dean’s had a rough day and needs to unwind.  He even spends the nights a lot of those times, but he’s gone in the morning and they don’t talk about it.

At some point Dean starts to feel guilty.  So maybe in addition to mowing his own lawn, he takes the time to do Cas’ for him.  And it’s not a big deal to water Cas’ flowers while he’s already got the hose out.  Really, it’d be rude of him _not_ to trim the bushes while he’s at it.  He always tells himself he won’t do a good job, just enough to make things look passable.  Then he tells himself it’s the neat freak in him that won’t let him quit until it’s perfect.

Either way, there’s no denying the pristine lawn that nearly matches his own.

\- - - -

Labor Day’s the end of the contest, mostly because the neighborhood gathers for a cookout so it’s a good time to present it.  Castiel dutifully returns the Bowler Bowl to the judging committee.  The judges take a tour of the homes while everyone else mingles and pretends to like each other.  

Dean does his best not to hover too close to Cas, but he finds himself falling into orbit around him.  Eventually he stops trying to fight it, grabbing a burger and sitting down next to him.  As usual, they don’t really talk, but maybe their elbows brush a little and they smile shyly at each other.  

At the end of the night when the celebration’s in full swing (and half the neighbors are deep in their cups), Garth steps up on a picnic table.  “Howdy y’all!  Thanks for comin’ out to the Bowler Green Lane Labor Day Celebration!”

There are some cheers and loud clapping, but Dean’s not really into it.  Because yeah, he _knew_ his thing with Cas was basically just a rivalry and now it was over til next year.  Even if he won, it’d mean nothing to him.  

(Well, not _nothing_.  But it’d feel like a consolation prize.)

“So this year was a pretty heated competition for the Bowler Bowl.  The judges have gone through and tallied it all up for us.  This year the winner is…”  There’s a bit of a drumroll as everyone taps on the table tops.  “Inias Harper!”

Gasps and surprised hoots ring out as Inias rushes up.  Garth hands over the Bowler Bowl and Bess snaps a picture.  Both Dean and Castiel stare on with a mix of horror and complete shock.  That… was unexpected.  He’d half-hoped there’d be a tie between him and Cas but… oh well, best put that out of his mind.  

“Fucking _Inias_ with his goddamned _petunias_?” Dean mutters under his breath.

“He uses Ryegrass, for Christ’s sake!   _Ryegrass_!” Castiel shouts into the crowd before Dean can grab him and put a hand over his mouth.  A few people turn to stare, only causing Dean and Cas to break out into giggles.  Giggles that turn into full out laughter that force them to lean on each other for support.  

When it becomes too much, they disappear from the crowded Fitzgerald backyard to the empty street.  Soon the laughing fit dies off and it’s just Dean and Cas standing under a streetlamp, Cas’ hand on Dean’s shoulder.  There are even fucking _fireflies_ darting around, how damn picturesque is that?

Spurred on by the moment, Dean takes a deep breath before plunging right in.  “So I was thinking…”  He awkwardly toes at a crack in the sidewalk.  “Maybe we could uh… like team up?  For next year?”

“Work together,” Castiel repeats slowly.  “It would be pretty difficult to maintain _two_ yards, even with our combined efforts…”

“Maybe we could consolidate?  I figure the two of us working on _one_ yard would win hands down so maybe-”

“Yes.”

Like that they’re kissing.  And because he’s a romantic sap, Dean even dips Cas down to deepen in before pulling him back up.  Breathless, they stare into each other’s eyes, realizing that maybe all the things they’d left unsaid didn’t really need to be.

Well, something _does_.

“We’re living in my house.  I have a better floorplan.”

Cas has never looked so affronted.  “Mine is a corner lot, Dean.  A _corner._  Lot.”

If you thought the war for the Bowler Bowl was bad, it’s nothing to how bad it gets as they struggle to pick between their two homes.  But that’s another story.  (Spoiler: Dean wins because he pulls out the big guns and first says “I love you” while they’re having sex in his bedroom.  Castiel begrudgingly admits he doesn’t like the idea of selling the house after that.)

Once they move in together, they are a force to be reckoned with in the Bowler Bowl.  And they win every.  Single.  Year.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Scene 1:  
> dean: sam, lemme introduce you to my boyfriend cas. cas, this is sam.  
> cas and sam: nice to meet you *awkward handshake as they size each other up*  
> sam: i look forward to seeing what you guys have done with the place. me and shaggy still in the guest room or you turned it into a home office yet?  
> dean: it’s a combo office and guest room, but yeah, you and your mutt are still in there  
> sam: *takes his luggage upstairs, followed by an adorable golden retriever*  
> cas: dean i love you but if your brother’s dog pisses or shits in our yard i will chop off all your brother’s hair in his sleep  
> dean: *heart eyes* same
> 
>  
> 
> Bonus Scene 2:  
> dean: soooo it’s almost christmas  
> cas: yes….  
> dean: and i thought maybe we could decorate the house…  
> cas: obviously. and?  
> dean: welllllll i might’ve gone a little overboard  
> cas: impossible. show me  
> *literally the entire front of the house is covered in a wall of lights, there is a massive sleigh - an actual fucking sleigh - with eight plastic reindeer, and an inflatable snowman*  
> cas: … i’m so rarely proven wrong, but this is it. you’ve gone overboard.  
> dean: *pouting* you don’t like it?  
> cas: i’m not liking what our electricity bill’s going to look like, but i actually don’t dislike it  
> dean: there’s also a contest for the house with the best decorations-  
> cas: WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU LEAD WITH THAT WINCHESTER JFC WE NEED MORE DECORATIONS ASAP


End file.
